


Pretty Baby

by inbox



Series: Church and State [6]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Barebacking, Comeplay, Embarrassment, Face-Sitting, Feminization, M/M, Mild Feminization, Oral Sex, Pregnancy Kink, Slurs, Slut Shaming, gendered slurs, thumbs up emoji
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-12 03:45:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16865521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inbox/pseuds/inbox
Summary: Church snorts and tries to cut off the conversation by getting up and taking their cups, but Sturges is quicker. He grabs him by the wrist and takes his empty mug back from him, letting it hit the coffee table with a satisfying clunk. “Sweets, flowers… I bet he’s trying to woo you like you’re the fairest maiden on the island. His new pretty girl.”“You hit your head again?” He half-heartedly tries to tug himself free.“Nope, pretty girl,” says Sturges, and he grins wide when Church scoffs. Handsome, maybe. Stately if pressed. Pretty he isn't. “Washing up can keep. Come sit on my lap.”--M!Sole Survivor Church/SturgesM!Sole Survivor Church/Andre Michaud (mentioned)Please read the tags.





	Pretty Baby

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the tags.

Church tells him about the Québécois hunter up north. A nice guy, he says. Andre. A widower. _It gets cold_ , he said once, like that was all that really needed to be said. And hey, it is. It’s not like Sturges lets his own sheets go cold when Church is away for weeks at a time. As long as they end up together then there’s nothing more to it.

He’s sure the old fisherman Church rents a cabin from is aware of what happens in Church’s quarters when he passes by. He sure as hell can imagine the slap of skin against skin, the old bed frame creaking. Sometimes he brings a brace of rabbits as a gift, and Church hands them on to Longfellow in lieu of rent. 

Dirty money. Dirty payment. He likes it; gives him a warm twist deep in his belly to fantasise ‘bout his stick in the mud other half keeping warm with someone courteous enough to leave dinner on the table.

The hunter bites. He leave marks on Church’s neck, high enough to be seen over the thick collar of his all-weather coat, and deep enough that they last long enough for Sturges to see them, even after three days at sea and two days on land to get to his own doorstep. 

He’s certainly surprised when Church leaves a tin of shortbreads on the coffee table, and doesn’t meet his eyes when Sturges reads the faded enamel art on the lid, holding it at arms length to see without his glasses. “Far Harbor,” he reads. “‘Have A Cracking Good Time in Far Harbor.’ And there’s crabs on it. Cute.”

“They’re for you,” he says. “From Andre.”

He waits for him to elaborate. It’s a dirty trick he picked up from Church himself. Leave enough of a hole in a conversation and people will trip over themselves to fill it. 

Church swirls his coffee, breaking up the clots of unskimmed cream clinging to the edge of the mug. The look he’s giving Sturges indicates that, yes, he knows exactly what he’s doing, going quiet like that. “It’s a gift. Think of it as… rent.”

He can’t help the bark of laughter that bubbles out of him. “Rent.”

He gives Sturges a shrewd look over the rim of his mug. “You should ask for more.”

“Nah,” he says, taking an experimental bite out of one. It’s soft and buttery, cut through with some kind of herb. He chews cautiously for a few seconds and swallows it with a mouthful of coffee. Ten seconds go by and, confident the shortbreads probably don’t contain any significant poison, he crams the rest of the cookie into his mouth. “Nah,” he says again, spraying crumbs down his front. “It’s about what you’re worth. A box of dainties is a good trade.”

They drink their coffee in companionable silence. Sturges eats half the biscuits in the box before reluctantly putting the lid back on and pushing it across the coffee table, far enough that he’d have to make an effort to retrieve them.

“So what made your piece on the side decide to give me a gift?”

Church shrugs. “He bought some for me. I said they’re more your kind of thing, and he bought a tin over before I left last week.”

“Should I be jealous?” He leans on the arm of the armchair, a hand pressed to his heart. “First he brings you meat, then he brings you sweets. What next?”

“He already bought me flowers.” Church’s eyes are crinkled up at the edges, grinning at Sturge’s offended teasing. “You’ve got competition.”

“Oh no,” he says, shaking his head. “I’ve already got you bagged, you fool. He’s trying to court you.”

Church snorts and tries to cut off the conversation by getting up and taking their cups, but Sturges is quicker. He grabs him by the wrist and takes his empty mug back from him, letting it hit the coffee table with a satisfying clunk. “Sweets, flowers… I bet he’s trying to woo you like you’re the fairest maiden on the island. His new pretty girl.”

“You hit your head again?” He half-heartedly tries to tug himself free.

“Nope, pretty girl,” says Sturges, and he grins wide when Church scoffs. Handsome, maybe. Stately if pressed. Pretty he isn't. “Washing up can keep. Come sit on my lap.”

The tips of Church's ears are starting to turn red as he hesitates across Sturges’ lap, uncertain of his weight across the broad flat of his thighs. He needn't worry. A thick arm hooks ‘round his middle and pulls him down hard, square across his lap. 

He obligingly turns his head to let Sturges nose at the faded bruises on his neck, relaxing as he kisses each one, taking back each sign of someone else’s teeth and claiming them for himself. “I can tell him to--”

Sturges cuts him off with a sharp sucking kiss high on his throat. If it marks up it’ll be high enough that anyone can see it. “I only care that he’s making this pretty piece of pussy feel good.”

He chokes at that. Twists around on his lap and stares at Sturges like he’s grown a second head. “You’re out of your mind. The fucking things _were_ poisoned.”

“Nope.” Sturges tugs him back down, laying soft kisses on his throat and feeling up his thighs, his chest, his belly, patient despite the fact his boyfriend is stiff as a board in his lap. He almost fancies he can hear Church’s mind going a mile a minute trying to process everything in a way that lets him wrest back control of something foreign and forbidden.

Well, fuck that. He can flip through his mental filing cabinets on his own time. Sturges has a better idea to kill a free afternoon, and he’d bet good money on them both enjoying it more than they’d expect.

They sit like that in the afternoon light until Church relaxes, muscle by muscle, letting himself become a boneless dead weight in Sturges’ arms. 

“My pretty girl,” he says again. He skates his palm over Church’s belly, over his chest and gently cups his face. They kiss real sweet like that, like they don’t often get to do much these days. It’s unhurried and slow, and Sturges knows he’s gonna put away the sight of Church all rosy-lipped and relaxed into his most cherished memories. God, he's going soft in his advancing years. 44 is too young to start getting this sappy.

“Horseshit,” mumbles Church. He takes Sturges hand from where he’s idly playing with his shirt collar and pulls it down to his chest. The soft sigh he makes when Sturges gently pinches at his nipple sounds so goddamn good, it’s almost enough to drive Sturges crazy. 

“My beautiful girl,” he says again, and pinches again. “Pretty girl and her pretty tits.”

“Jesus,” says Church. He sounds dazed. He closes his eyes and lets Sturges feel up his chest, cupping and squeezing his pec, and sucks back a noisy breath when Sturges pinches his nipple hard through the thick flannel of his shirt. 

“Don't tell me such a pretty girl likes getting her tits played with?”

“Maybe,” says Church. He pauses for a long moment. “Do it again.”

Sturges chuckles and cups his pec on the flat of his hand, jiggling it like there was so much more to it than it really was. “Pity you’ve got nothing worth grabbing,” he says. “Fella could stay warm all night pressed into a pair of big lush tits. Not like what you've got. That why you let Andre play with ‘em so much? Trying to make up for what you don't have?”

Church’s cheeks are starting to turn red. “I don't see you being that picky.”

Sturges laughs and pulls at his nipple again, hard enough that Church makes a choked up whine in the back of his throat. He pushes into Sturges’ palm, trying to ease the unrelenting pressure, but all this gets him is a big palm smoothing gentle circles into his knee and up his thigh. 

He shakes his head, and takes a deep breath. “This gets you off?”

“Does this get _you_ off?” Sturges counters. “Being my dirty girl?”

He closes his eyes and doesn't say anything. It's as good as a church confession, literally. If the twin tells of his flush and his silence weren't loud enough as is, his dick starting to chub up under Sturges’ wandering hands would give it away in a heartbeat. 

Sturges is starting to feel a little warm under his collar himself. Lord above help him if hadn't thought about this before. Being balls deep in Church’s hole and rambling on about how much he wanted to pump his ass full, blurting out all sorts of horseshit about fucking him fat with cum and knocking him up… from there it's a hop, skip and a cock-drunk jump to fantasising about his boyfriend clenching up tight around him, burning up with humiliation even as he gets off on Sturges treating him as his pretty girl, his slutty piece. 

He's long since worked his way through any feelings of jealousy or possessiveness he might feel. As long as they keep coming back to each other, that’s all he wants. Doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy himself thinking about it, can’t take that maddening feeling of ownership and turning it into something they both can take hold of.

“That’s what I thought.” He squeezes his pec again. “C'mon pretty girl, what’s it gonna to take to get you to show me your panties?”

“Fuck off,” he says. There's a hitch to his voice that doesn't escape the notice of either of them. 

Sturges’ hand creeps further up his inner thigh. “Just a peek,” he wheedles. “Just for me. I won't tell anyone that you showed me what's hiding that juicy cunt.”

“Fuck _off_ ,” says Church weakly. “I'm not--”

“Not what?” Sturges is already undoing the button on his fly, working the brass button through stretched out cotton with barely an effort. He carefully avoids brushing against Church’s erection, pressing thick and hot against the worn materiel.  

He tugs at the waistband of his trousers and slips a thick finger at the small of his back. “Well, now _that's_ a surprise.”

“I wasn't expecting an inspection,” says Church. He's breathing heavy. 

“Nothing?” Sturges dips his finger into the top of Church's crack. “You been walking around all day with your pussy bare, sweetie?” He undoes more of the soft button fly, enough that he can tug the waistband back enough to wriggle his hand down and get a handful of bare ass. “Should I know why you're skipping your panties?”

“Don't play coy.”

Sturges grins, smug. “Oh, I know. But I reckon you should tell me anyway.”

Church closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “I’m...,” he says, and stalls out. It’s maybe the first time Sturges has ever seen him at a loss for words. “I don't--.”

“Did someone cum in your pussy today, sweetie?” He pushes his fingers deeper. Church obliges him, leaning forward enough that he can press his fingers against the warm skin of Church’s hole. He's damp and soft under his fingertips, and still a little bit wet. 

Sturges knows for a fact Church got fucked this morning, ‘cause he's the fella who got the privilege of taking him raw. They fucked by the kitchen window, Church's head damn near shoved into the fresh washing up water as Sturges gripped him ‘round the shoulders and shot his load as deep as he could go. Nice way to pass the time. Nice way to greet the day.

He taps the pad of his middle finger against Church’s hole, and pushes in ever so slightly. 

“No,” lies Church. “No one has come in my…” He trails off, embarrassed. 

“Say it.”

“Christ. This is humiliating.” He rubs at his temple. 

“Church.” He squeezes a handful of thigh and presses a dainty kiss to his shoulder. “Say it for me.”

He sighs. The put-on effect might've had more weight if Church wasn't so hard that his dick was staining the front of his jeans, a cap-sized pearl of wet turning the denim a dark grey. “I can't. Sweetheart, I can't, I'm sorry but--”

He cuts him off with a nod. “You can play innocent with me as much as you want, pretty baby.” Sturges pulls his hand free and spits on his fingers, rubs the wet between his thumb and forefinger. “You know I’m going to find out that you're lying though. I'm know I'm going to feel cum in your sweet little cunt. Isn't that right?”

“ _Jesus_ ,” gasps Church. He’s blood red in the face, a hot flush spilling down his chest and under the open collar of his shirt. “Fuck. You can't--”

“ _You_ can't.” Sturges plays with his hole, circling the rim with his fingertip, keeping his touch light enough to be distracting. “You're so easy. A real dirty slut when you think you can get away with it. I know what you get up to when you're not here for me to keep an eye on you. I know you get around and ride every dick you want. I know you let every tin soldier finish in that sweet little pussy. That's shameful.” He takes a moment to gather himself, gambling on his next sentence. “You know I raised you better than that, baby girl.”

Church makes a noise like he's been punched. He squeezes the head of his dick through his jeans, and Sturges has to close his eyes for a moment himself ‘cause god knows he could bust from the way his fella is burning hot with humiliation. 

“You can't say shit like that,” he says accusingly. “Sturges.”

He holds up his other hand, the one that's been petting up his thigh, raises it in a conciliatory fashion. “Too much?”

“Not that,” says Church. The flush on his face suits him, all flustered and hot. “We're not doing that.”

Sturges turns Church's chin with his finger, holding his gaze. Church breaks first, blinking and looking away. 

“I'm sorry,” he says, and means it. “You want to--?” Better to leave the question open ended. 

He doesn't answer him, just rubs at his nose under his glasses and takes a deep breath before kissing Sturges on the forehead. “My back is killing me,” he says. 

It's a weak out but he takes it anyway. Better for the both of them. 

Sturges rocks back on the chair and uses the momentum to get to his feet in one powerful lift. He lifts Church with him, scoops him up in a bridal carry and dumps him on the sofa from a few inches up, just enough that he bounces and makes the old springs squeak in protest.

Church looks a flustered mess, his fly open and his shirt rucked up enough to show the hair on his belly and a promising glimpse of his dick, still half hard. Sturges savours the sight, committing it to memory as he cups himself through his sweats. 

“Stop rubbing yourself off.” Church idly pats at his chest and smooths out the wrinkles in his shirt left by Sturges’ savage treatment earlier, and looks up him. He looks expectant and dishevelled and a little bit shrewd. 

He hesitates for a moment. “Just looking at my girl,” he says gently, testing the waters. Pressing a little, just enough to see if this back and forth is still good. 

“Yeah?” He gives Sturges a fleeting appraisal, a quick glance that takes him in from his hair to his feet, and raises an eyebrow at the way he unashamedly pets at his cock, pulling the thin fabric of his sweats firm around his dick. “Must be a looker to have you so keyed up.”

“She's a knockout,” he says happily. “Got a face like a hatchet and arms like a sailor.”

Church snorts with laughter and rolls his eyes as he takes off his glasses, dropping them to the floor spinning them by one arm to send them back far under the sofa, deep enough to stay safe from accidents. Sturges kicks off his old sweats and takes his hand for balance, swinging a leg over his prone form to sit on Church’s belly. 

“She's mean too,” he adds. “Got a tongue like a razor, and leaves me on my lonesome for weeks at a time.” He cuts off Church’s protests to the contrary before they can start, pushing his fingertips hard into Church’s pecs, pushing them together to make a shallow imitation of cleavage through his shirt. “But she's got cute tiny tits and a pussy that drives me crazy.”

He leans over and gives him a chaste little peck on the lips. “Even if she gives it up to every man she sees.”

“Unbelievable,” says Church to himself, but he doesn't attempt to hold back his amusement. He push-pulls Sturges up the sagging cushions, rearranging them both so he can kneel over his face. “Still sounds like you got the better end of the deal.”

“Definitely.” Sturges tugs at his dick slow, shivers a little as Church cups his ass and pushes him down. “Wouldn't trade her for anyone in the world.” He adjusts his balance and holds his dick flat to his belly. Better to see what he can of Church framed between his quads, the flat of his cheek against the heavy hang of his testicles. “C'mon sweetie,” he says imperiously. “Show me what a nice girl you can be.”

Church presses rubs his face into the crease of Sturges’ thigh and  He can feel Church making soft noises as he licks and laps him wet, works the rough slide of his tongue against the smooth sensitive skin at the back of his balls. The wet sound of skin against skin sounds obnoxiously loud in the quiet afternoon, and he moans like he’s been struck when Church hums against his testicles before sucking one into his mouth. 

“Good girl,” says Sturges breathlessly. “My good slutty girl.” 

He's not embarrassed about how quick Church worshipping his balls gets him to the edge. It's a testament to how good he is at it, and how much Sturges fucking loves every bit of it: his hot mouth; the way he closes his eyes and blisses out underneath Sturges’ heavy bulk; the pressure of Church's knuckle against the tender skin of his taint forcing his dick to bead up wet, so much of it that it makes his hand on his dick slide smooth and easy. 

“Sweetheart,” he says, and closes his eyes to summon a tiny bit of willpower as Church follows him as he rises on his knees, chasing him up until he's got no choice but fall back on the sofa. His chin and cheeks are soaked with his own spit, his lips reddened and flushed. 

“Let me finish you off.” Church pushes on his ass, and god help him if it isn't tempting to sit back down and let him have his way. But, shit, he's got a finish in mind for this whole little scenario they accidentally bumbled their way into. One he'd bet good money is going to tick a box that his sweetheart still can't admit to liking, but letting Church swallow his balls while he blows his load all over the arm of the sofa ain't the way to get there. 

“Nope.” Sturges taps his dick against his lips until Church opens his mouth and tries to suck him down. “And nope, not that either. You just lay there and take it, beautiful.”

It doesn't take more than a dozen quick pumps of his fist to get him to the edge. He pushes the head of his dick into Church's obliging mouth, gritting his teeth against the temptation to ram himself home and cum down his throat as rough as he pleased. 

“Don't swallow,” he says, his throat so tight that it makes his tone crack a little on the last syllable. “Hold it in that perfect mouth, jesus sweetheart, hold it for me, I'm--”

Church gags at the first pumps of cum hitting the back of his throat, almost pushes him away to spit the whole lot onto the knotted rag rug, but he rallies and holds it until Sturges is drained and empty and slumped over like his strings have been cut, chest heaving like bellows as he gets his breath back. His softening cock rests on Church’s cheek, the last last drip of semen tracking down into the start of his 5 o’clock stubble.

“Good girl,” he says, and presses against his lower lip until he takes the hint and opens his mouth. Sturges scoops up the mess on his chin with the flat of his thumb and carefully scrapes the spilled cum on Church’s teeth, nodding with satisfaction at the load pooled on his tongue. “Don't swallow it. You're not going to waste a drop of that, sweetheart. We’re going to make sure that all goes where it belongs.”

He offers his hand and Church takes the hint, sitting up with a grimace. He lets Sturges direct his ass as far back on the sofa as he can go, awkwardly shuffling from one cheek to the other to help Sturges yank his jeans off. One foot goes on the edge of the sofa cushion and the other against the lip of the coffee table, spread wide as his stiff hips will allow. 

“Look at that,” says Sturges with naked admiration. He rubs the head of Church’s dick, smearing precum around with his thumb until the cut head glistens. “Look at that big stiff clit. Maybe it's good you weren't wearing pretty panties today, baby. Might've ruined them by getting them all wet.”

He catches Church’s knee before he can clench his thighs together in embarrassment. “Don't you go hiding from me, sweetheart. I get to look at that sweet little clit and needy hole as much I want.”

He cups his palm in front of Church's mouth. “Spit.”

Out of everything he's said and done in the past twenty minutes, this might be the thing that makes Church ring the bell and tap out. Every line of his body radiates disgust at the act, the base filthiness of it, unloading old cum and saliva into Sturges’ waiting hand. 

He waves his hand a little in encouragement. “It's not gonna get any more pleasant,” he says, and grins at the unimpressed glare this earns him.

The seconds drag on, ‘til Church closes his eyes and squares his shoulders and spits up his mouthful into the bowl of Sturges’ cupped palm. 

“Perfect,” he says warmly, and presses a kiss to his temple. “You're so good for me.”

Church mutters an expletive under his breath, raising his chin and closing his eyes. His dick hasn't softened at all. 

Look, he might love Church, perennial stick up his ass and all, but at no point does he believe that excludes leaning on his boundaries. It's good for Church to get some pushback occasionally, and it gives Sturges a giddy thrill to see his uptight beau come undone behind closed doors. Besides, it’s fun. He loves it. Having Church combust from being called a slutty girl wasn’t something he expected from today, but what kind of idiot is he to let that opportunity pass him by?

“Lean back, beautiful,” he says warmly. “Show me that juicy cunt of yours.”

Without prompting he parts his cheeks, offering his hole up for Sturges inspection. He scoops up a finger full of spit and cum and rubs it into Church’s hole, getting him wet and working him open. 

“I think about this perfect pussy all the time when you're away,” he says conversationally. “No sloppy hole compares to your tight snatch, Church. Sometimes you're so tight it's a struggle to split you wide enough to take me.” He pauses to spit on his asshole, and looks up at him from between his thighs. “God knows how you do it though, stay that tight for me. You're the easiest fuck around. By rights your pussy should be so used every time you come home to me I should be able to slide easy in the second you walk in the door. Everyone knows you ain't no virgin. Isn't that right?”

“No,” says Church softly. There's a blotchy flush of red starting to crawl over his cheeks again. 

“No, I'm wrong?” He scoops up another load of cum and pushes it in deeper this time, two broad fingers working his ass open. “Or no, you're not a virgin?”

“I'm no virgin.” 

“Nope. You gave up that cherry easy,” says Sturges pleasantly. He opts not to remark on the way Church’s dick jumps at his words. “Everyone knows you've taken cock from here to the sea. You're a sure ride for any fella with a big dick. That's what they say about you, right?”

“Yes,” he whispers. His fingers are digging so deep into the meat of his ass that his fingertips are blanched white. “Sturges…”

He ignores him and grinds the last of his palmful of cum down his crack, forcing as much of it into his asshole as he can. “I reckon any man would be delighted to help themselves to this pussy you give up for free. Even though you let yourself get sloppy with cum, they'd still line up to shoot a fresh load into you because you take it so well. I bet I could open the door right now and find a dozen fellas who'd bust in your hole and tip you on the way out for a job well done.”

Church lets out an agonised moan. He turns his cheek to the sofa back, panting loud as Sturges fingers him fast and mean. 

He waits until Church is pushing back onto his fingers, lips parted as he rides Sturges’ hand, big fingers rubbing at him from the inside and pushing him closer and closer to orgasm. He gets right up against him, heavy as lead, and presses a chaste kiss to his cheek. 

“I'm surprised no one has pumped a baby into your slutty cunt yet,” he says softly, right into his ear. “I'm surprised you haven't come home to me all knocked up.”

Church bucks up into him and comes like a rolling wave, his dick throbbing as he cums between their bellies, pulse after pulse smearing hot and wet. Sturges doesn't let him finish, bullying his prostate with heavy passes of his fingers until Church is throwing his head back and gasping for breath through the wonderful agony of an orgasm dragged out, and out, and out. 

He makes a noise Sturges has never heard from him in the year they've been together; a pitched animal whine pulled from deep in his chest. The sound goes straight to his spent cock, barely able to do more than limply twitch despite the insatiable need he feels to bury his dick deep in his clenching hole and keep Church making that noise. If he could go again so quickly he’d rut against Church and rip that noise from his chest for as long as he could, swallow it down straight from his open mouth and make it his own. 

Finally, _finally_ , he goes boneless on the couch, slumped down with his knees wide and his thighs smeared with drying spit and semen. His asshole is flushed deep pink and rubbed tender. Sturges wants to kiss it better, and says so with a leer. 

Church blindly pats at his head, and says he's a menace. “Later,” he adds, addressing the ceiling. 

“Counting on it.” Sturges gently rubs at Church’s knees, waiting for him to rouse back to life. “You good?”

His gut lurches as Church stays silent for what feels like an eternity, mopping up the cooling semen on his belly with his shirt. If this was a mistake he's gonna feel like a colossal fuck-up and a damn cruel heel. 

“I'm not wearing a dress,” Church says finally. 

Sturges laughs with relief, resting his chin on Church’s thigh. “It wouldn't suit you, sweetheart.”

Church ruffles his hair and he leans into it, content.

“A pair of pretty panties though…”

“Eat shit,” says Church, and raises his head enough to gift him with a rare smile, his mouth soft ‘round the edges and the corners of his eyes wrinkling up. 

“Maybe on my birthday,” Sturges continues, ignoring him. “That'd be a hell of a gift. You in lace with a bow on your ass.”

“Maybe Hell will freeze over,” Church counters, and tugs at Sturges’ shoulders until he crawls onto the couch and rests his head on Church’s lap. After a moment Church laces their sweaty hands together, rubbing his thumb across the dry skin on Sturges’ knuckles. 

“You can try them on for me though,” he says offhandedly. “If they make them big enough.”

It's Sturges turn to derisively snort. “I've tried. They don't.” He slaps at his thigh. “Too built,” he says mournfully. “No one is going to fit me in lace.”

“Maybe if you didn’t eat half a tin of shortbreads in one sitting. Jesus.”

“Well, yeah. You knew what you signed up for.” He squeezes Church’s hand. “You're the pretty girl who loves me regardless though.”

“Yeah,” says Church, and squeezes his hand back. He rests his head on the sofa back and exhales, his whole body relaxed and content for once. “Guess I am.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is so far out of my wheelhouse that it's in the next boat entirely, but hey, nothing ventured, nothing gained.


End file.
